I’ve suddenly realized two things:
- I’ve never participated in Pink Undies Sunday
- I’ve never blogged in a laundromat before.
It takes five weeks, three pep talks from Scott and a near-dangerous amount of caffeine for Stiles to finally initiate a conversation with Hot Laundromat Guy Who Actually Irons His Suits Oh My God.
"Nice pleats," he says, casually leaning against the machine next to ironing board. "I mean, that’s not a euphemism, or anything. I was just."
The guy’s lips curve up, his eyes still focused on his suit pants, and Stiles swears that nobody’s ever looked so beautiful under greenish florescent lights. “I didn’t think it was a euphemism. What would that even be a euphemism for?”
"Use your imagination," Stiles says boldly, wiggling his eyebrows. Hot Laundromat Guy slips and burns the tip of his finger. "Oh my god, are you okay?"
"Ugh, stop, I’m fine." The guy is glaring at the iron like it just betrayed him. "Maybe I should just… finish up at home."
Stiles panics. “My name is Stiles!” (It’s a non sequitur, admittedly, but anything to keep the guy from walking out and taking his amazing forearms with him.)
"Derek," says the guy, looking at him curiously from under his ludicrous mascara-commercial eyelashes. "I’ve seen you before. I’m always here on Sundays, too."
"I know, dude. You’re hard to miss," Stiles says, grinning when Derek squirms and bites his lip. Aww. "When you finish up with the pressing and the pleating and all that impressively fancy laundry stuff you do, can I buy you a burger? If you eat burgers. You look kind of like you subsist on kale and gravel."
"I like burgers," Derek says, rolling his eyes as he digs through his laundry basket. "I’m ambivalent on gravel, though."
"Ha, ha," Stiles says, completely delighted. "So I know this great place… oh."
Derek has just placed a pair of gorgeous, expensive-looking pink silk panties on the board. He’s handling them carefully, lovingly, and Stiles’ heart plummets.
"Those are nice," he says, trying to smile like a normal person. "It’s nice of you to take care of those. For your… wife?"
Derek frowns, smoothing out the wrinkles with one of his huge hands. “I’m not married.”
"Girlfriend, then?" Stiles doesn’t know why he keeps going. His throat is burning a little bit with the effort of not showing how suddenly crushed he feels.
"No, I’m not—they’re mine," Derek says. Matter-of-fact, easy, like he didn’t just restore all of Stiles’ hopes and blow his freaking mind in a single sentence.
"Oh," he breathes, and Derek sighs, looking up at him
"If you want to reconsider that burger—"
"Careful!" Stiles yelps, and moves the iron away from where it’s resting on the corner of the panties’ lace trim. "Oh, good. They’re not burnt."
"Thanks," Derek says, his hand sliding into a fist against the ironing board.
"You can thank me once I’ve bought you the best burger you’ve ever had," Stiles says, and slides his fingers gently over Derek’s wrist. "Finish up first, though. Silk wrinkles like crazy."
"I’ve got it under control," Derek says, sighing grumpily even as he flips his hand over and brushes their palms together.
sinycath asked: grimmmmm <333 prompt: derek comes back to bh to find that stiles has been missing for a while (weeks maybe?). you're free to come up with why he's missing. derek starts searching for him with the others. maybe have a night where he's teaming up with the sheriff and scott? they find him ofc, because I'm a sucker for happy endings :p
A month and three days after Derek left Beacon Hills, he came back. He’d meant to come back sooner, to be honest; all he’d wanted was some time to be alone, reset his mind. He’d thought about going to British Columbia and spending a week or two in the temperate rainforests. They’d gone as a family once, when he was a kid. Derek didn’t have a passport, which wasn’t really a problem, but he’d forgotten to factor in Cora, who finally admitted that she’d spent her missing years living on a remote ranch in Texas and wanted to go back.
Texas was fine too, Derek decided, and he could still go to Canada if he really wanted to, so he pointed the Toyota to the southeast and they headed for Texas. One week, he told himself firmly as they drove up a dusty dirt road fifty miles from the Mexican border. One week and then he needed to get back to Beacon Hills. He didn’t feel especially great about the way he’d left things in town. He hadn’t seen Peter since before the eclipse, for one, and that worried him.
One week, though, turned into two, then three, then a month. As it turned out, the ranch was owned and ran by a large pack - nearly a hundred werewolves and humans known together as the Alvarado pack - and he was slightly bewildered to find himself welcomed with open arms. It’d been a long, long time since he’d spent so much time around so many wolves - not ones he wasn’t fighting, anyway - and away from Beacon Hills, he felt whole again. Cora was different too; she lost her cold distance, laughing as she showed him around the ranch, guided him through the stables. She made him pet the warm noses of horses and bumped her shoulder against his while they shucked corn for dinner.
He dragged his feet over leaving, though it helped when the alpha of the Alvarado pack, a tiny old woman with dark skin and steel-colored hair, patted him on the arm and told him he was always welcome. Derek didn’t need Beacon Hills any longer, he decided. He’d go back, make sure everything was settled, and then he’d leave for good. That had been the plan the last time, when it was just him and Laura, but the city had a new alpha in Scott and he’d earned it, unlike Derek, who’d just taken it.
The drive took two days and Derek took the coastal route because he could, driving due west from Texas until he reached the coast, then driving north until he headed inland toward Redding. It was dark when he got into town, almost eleven, and he got a room in a motel at the edge of town. He could have gone to the loft, but the dark, ruined expanse of it didn’t appeal to him. He couldn’t keep sleeping where people had died. The motel room smelled like mold and ancient cigarette smoke, but the sheets were clean and it wasn’t an abandoned railway depot or burnt shell of a house, so he couldn’t complain. Also, the motel got HBO so he really couldn’t complain; he and Cora had spent two weeks watching Game of Thrones every evening.
In the morning, Derek showered and went to a diner for breakfast. He watched the people around him talk and eat. Everything felt normal, which was a relief. There was no foreboding sense of things about to go horribly, terribly wrong, which he was one hundred percent okay with. Derek could do with no more blood on his hands.
After he ate, he stood in line at the register waiting to pay for his meal, hands in his pockets as he gazed absently at the community board behind the cashier’s head. It was covered in flyers announcing church potlucks, intramural softball leagues, lost cats, and salsa dance lessons at the local senior center. The cashier bent to grab a roll of coins from under the counter and Derek’s eyes fell to a poster previously hidden behind her head.
MISSING! it yelled in bold red text, and underneath it was a picture of Stiles Stilinski.
"Stiles, stop it." Derek’s trying to keep a straight face as Stiles stands above him on the bed, but he knows he’s losing the battle. Stiles is balancing on wobbly legs, aiming the camera down at Derek. It’s really fucking cute; Stiles clad only in boxers, his skin warm and slightly flushed.
"Nope," Stiles grins at him, face half hidden by the camera. "Do you know how long it took Lydia to sort out this lens?" Holding the camera away, Stiles sinks to his knees and places a hand on Derek’s bare stomach. "I want all the photos of you." Rubbing against the skin, Stiles raises the camera again. "Photos of you first thing in the morning, photos of you all sleepy late at night, when you snuffle into the pillow and frown if I’m not there with you.
Derek sighs, throwing his arms over his head and smiling softly at Stiles. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly.
"You knew that before we started this."
Putting the camera on the bedside table, Stiles crawls on top of Derek, holding Derek’s wrists loosely and leaning down over him. Raising an eyebrow at him, Derek waits for Stiles to make the first move, watching Stiles’ pupils dilate as he inches closer. Stiles’ mouth grazes against his, tongue swiping over Derek’s bottom lip, and then the floodgates open and Stiles is all around him.
It’s sensory overload, Stiles kissing him soft and slow, teasing and taking advantage of Derek’s pliant state. Derek doesn’t even notice when Stiles lets go of Derek’s wrist and fumbles for the camera.
Some of the photos are blurred and off centre; a haze of flushed skin and messy hair, but they’re the best things Derek has ever seen. Tangible, gorgeous evidence of them, of their relationship. Derek’s always had photos of Stiles, but he’s never had photos like this, of him looking happy and relaxed, of he and Stiles looking soft and in love.
If this is the end result, he guesses he can put up with Stiles’ new obsession.
Anonymous asked: not sure if you're taking prompts but derek telling stiles that he loves him for the first time?
i’m not supposed to be taking prompts. supposed. i never do what i’m supposed to do, though.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?!”
“A lot,” Derek blurts out before sniggering into Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles sways under his weight.
Deaton looks mildly amused, Stiles glares. This is not the kind of situation he’d call humorous.
“It’s just the pain medication; it will take a few hours to wear off. It may also,” Deaton clears his throat, “Make him a little loose tongued.”
Stiles’ throat goes slightly dry just at the turn of phrase and then he realizes what Deaton’s really implying.
“Is he—does he know what he’s saying at all?”
“Of course I do,” Derek interrupts, looking at him a little glass eyed. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, it’s annoying when you and Scott do that.”
“We don’t do it that often!”
“You made plans for the weekend while I was standing right there,” Derek huffs. “It was rude.”
Stiles gapes at him. “I didn’t—did you want to go see a bunch of crappy horror movies with shitty acting that would make you itch to point out all the inaccuracies this Sunday?”
“If they’re going to reflect our daily lives they should at least be accurate.”
Which isn’t exactly an answer, but it is telling. Stiles bites his lip feeling guilty as fuck. He’d just assumed that even after all this time; Derek generally considered Stiles and Scott’s de-stressing activities to be beneath him.
“I just figured—”
“I don’t care,” Derek insists heatedly, before his head lolls back onto Stiles’ shoulder and his face is suddenly buried in Stiles’ neck. “You smell bad.”
[This is an uncomfortably autobiographical little coffee shop AU that’s not actually an AU. HAPPY HOLIDAYS]
Derek has a job.
Stiles isn’t sure why his brain keeps tripping over itself about this, but… Derek is employed. Derek is standing there, behind a counter, telling the woman in front of Stiles to have a great day.
Stiles lets out an odd, harsh laugh, because Derek probably doesn’t even remember what having a great day feels like.
TW Everafter art for Dirty paws and furry coatsThis was for a Disney challenge, but I foolhardily decided to tackle this project using the Studio Ghibli style instead. The backgrounds and scene references are taken from
(This has been on my desktop, and was supposed to be a Big Serious Fic, but well. Whatevs. Here’s an abbreviated version of it.)
Derek finds out about the blog because Cora is a little shit and likes to mock him at every turn.
She emails him a link and the words: tumblr cooking fandom wants you to step on all the legos, lol.
Derek doesn’t know what any word in that sentence means, but he follows the link anyway out of sheer curiosity. What he finds is…a lot of people hating him. He’s not really sure what Tumblr is or how it works, but about fifteen people have added commentary on a link to an article about Derek. None of it is nice and, yes, there’s many a mention of Legos, which Derek still doesn’t understand.
He clicks to the article and is met with a giant headline: Chef Derek Hale Sends a Cease and Desist to a Popular Cooking Blog. Whoever wrote the article is also not a fan of Derek’s, though there’s no mention of Legos, just about a dozen variations on snobby and pretentious.
‘“Your uncle and your sister?” Stiles soldiered on, sure he already knew the answer, so he wasn’t surprised when Derek responded with: DEAD. But then Derek swept the word up and began choosing more letters, until he’d spelled out something that actually was surprising.’
Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by devildoll, with illustrations by rahciach
the fic and the art that went with it were amazing? i am not rly satisfied w/ this but i am too busy rn to work more on it and i wanted to show my appreciation anyway
This is so beautiful. Oh my God. I worship you forever. <3 <3
Anonymous asked: Kink negotiation anon here, happy to know you like this trope! It would be this: archiveofourown(.)org/works/696392 And now I'm all afraid you won't like it because I always feel horrible when I recommend something and then the other person hates it. /o\ Anyway, have fun reading! :D
I HAVE NOT READ IT YET BECAUSE I JUST GOT INTO WORK BUT THIS IS SO HAPPENING I AM EXCITE!
For those who got as enthused as I did over this, GO FORTH! READ!